


Harpstrings

by orphan_account



Series: Shimmer [12]
Category: The Silmarillion and Other Histories of Middle Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 12:02:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2620988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He clings desperately to sanity by the fraying ends of his brother's harpstrings and prays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harpstrings

Outside, a storm rages. 

Maedhros doesn't know what he's doing in Maglor's study, but in Maglor's study he is. His brother is leaning forward, dark hair falling in a curtain as he hunches over the papers on his desk. The lamplight flickers as Maedhros's shirt drops to the floor. 

Thunder crashes. Maglor looks up to meet his eyes, and Maedhros wishes his brother didn't look so haunted. His own darkness is more than enough for them both. 

"Nelyo."

"Káno." 

They don't need any more greeting than that. It's becoming something of a ritual between them. 

Maglor stands and winds long musician's fingers in Maedhros's short hair. "You need this." Not a question, but a confirmation. 

Maedhros nods. Not an answer, but a confirmation. "I need you."

His lips are claimed in a deep kiss, and carefully Maglor works at untying the knots of tension in his muscles, Maedhros leaning into his touch like he's starving for it. "Need you," he repeats, a moan this time, and Maglor obliges, fingertips running down Maedhros's chest and lips pressing soft butterfly kisses over his jawline. 

As always, Maglor's touch and Maglor's voice chase the darkness away. 

Maglor breaks away from the kiss to work at his tunic's laces. "Let me help," Maedhros whispers, and his fingers join Maglor's. "I love you."

It's not something they commonly say, though both of them know it's true. 

"I—" Maglor's breath catches. "I love you."

Maedhros leans forward again, to press against Maglor's steady warmth. "Need you," says, and it's nearly a whimper now. "Please. Káno. Need you."

Maglor lays his head on Maedhros's shoulder, presses a kiss to his collarbone. "I know." 

Electricity buzzes through Maedhros's veins as Maglor's hips roll forward. "Please—" he can't breathe, he tries to but Maglor fills his lungs instead of air, and Maedhros knows this is wrong but he can't stop it and wouldn't even if he could.

He clings desperately to sanity by the fraying ends of his brother's harpstrings and prays.


End file.
